Written in the Scars on Our Hearts
by captainfloor
Summary: Alone and without anyone who is capable of controlling magic, Emma finds herself on the Jolly Roger with a bleeding and badly injured Hook. Finding no other choice, she decides to take matters into her own hands.


Out of breath and her hair stained with a sticky red, Emma grunted as she helped Hook through the cabin door. She adjusted his arm, which she kept around her neck, and lowered him slowly onto the bed. Hook's face twisted with pain and he bit down on his lip to keep from shouting. She placed her hand on his back and lifted him up slightly, so as to elevate him with pillows.

Taking a deep breath, Emma stepped back and wrung her hands helplessly. She faltered for a second and finally told him, "Stay here."

She left the cabin, and it wasn't until Hook heard the sound of her footsteps completely recede that he surrendered himself to the pain. He shivered as cold sweat gathered on his face and neck. His entire body began to shake with a seizure-like fit of coughs.

After several minutes, he heard the doorknob jiggle. Hook immediately bit his lip to stop himself from coughing and tightened his body to suppress the chills that ran through him. He closed his eyes and stayed as still as he could, refusing to let her see how close he felt to death.

Emma shut the door behind her and walked into the cabin, a rag in one hand, a bucket of water in the other. Hook was lying on the bed, his eyes closed and chest moving slowly up and down, propped up by a few ragged pillows. His thick hair was sticking to his forehead, matted with blood and sweat. Dirt and specks of darkening red coated his face, and across his neck was a long wound with beads of blood clinging to it, a morbid necklace. An even more serious injury lay underneath his thick vest and coat, and she didn't even want to imagine how that must look.

"I don't need your help," Hook muttered. Emma exhaled loudly, realizing with a start, that she had been holding her breath. She set the bucket down onto the ground and scratched the side of her head.

"Don't be stupid," she snapped frustratedly. "Gold isn't here to fix you, and if I don't do anything now, you're going to die."

She knelt on the ground beside him, dipped the rag into the water, and wrung it. She then started on the neck wound, dabbing at it softly.

"Ah, that hurts," he complained.

Emma shushed him impatiently and continued to pat his neck and jaw with the damp towel, blowing occasionally to subdue the pain. When the wound looked less life-threatening, she drew back, satisfied, and her eyes flickered over to his chest. There was no way she could even begin to dress the wound unless his chest was bare. She flushed at the very idea.

Emma cleared her throat, attempting to sound as indifferent as possible."I need you to take off your coat. Your vest, too."

He grinned slightly, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. "Only if you take yours off, lass."

She punched his arm, making him gasp in pain.

"Bloody hell, Swan," he said through gritted teeth. Grimacing, he slipped his coat off. He then began to work on the vest. Fumbling with the buttons with only his one hand, he grunted in frustration.

"A little help?" he exhaled irritatedly, and looked up at Emma, glancing pointedly at his hook.

With a surrendering sigh, she got up and sat on the bed beside him. She made a point to avoid his gaze, which she felt boring into her. She forced herself not to flush as she worked the buttons of his vest open. Emma suppressed the urge to vomit when she saw the blood and the depth of the wound; she swore she could see bone.

"That bad?" Hook watched her intently, his eyes scanning her face.

Emma shrugged, attempting to come off as nonchalant, as if she had nursed wounds much deeper than this in the past.

"Well, there's no need to worry. I've had worse," Hook said. Unconvinced by her act, he laughed weakly, and then immediately squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth as the resulting pain rattled his chest.

Emma dipped the towel into the water and watched as the blood swirled in the bucket. Taking a deep breath, she brought her hand to his chest and began to gently clean the wound.

"Ugh, your hair makes this impossible," she muttered, mostly to herself, dabbing at the chest hair, which was matted and stuck together with blood.

His lips twisted into a thin half-smile. "I find that most other lasses enjoy it."

She turned to glare at him in disbelief. She opened her mouth to say something and then thought better of it. Shaking her head, she turned her gaze back to the long cut in his dark chest.

"Do you have any rum left?" she asked.

He cocked his head toward the desk, where his brown bottle was. She grabbed it and unstopped it with her teeth. She spit out the cork and then turned to Hook, whose eyebrow was raised, amused by the familiar gesture.

"What?" she impatiently snapped.

"Learned from the best, have you?" he smirked, eyebrow dancing. "Let me guess, you're always a gentleman, as well."

Emma pursed her lips tightly as she recognized the familiarity of the scene before them. She turned her face away, so that he wouldn't see the strange expression on it.

"This is going to hurt," she warned and immediately proceeded to dump the liquid onto his wound. He yelled between gritted teeth, his back arching in pain. His eyes shut tight, he grabbed for her hand and squeezed it so hard, she felt her hand lose circulation. When she exclaimed, he apologetically loosened his grip.

Emma then grabbed a pillow from the ground, ripped the cotton case off, and began to tear it into into one long strip.

"Can you sit yourself up?" Emma asked. Hook nodded. As soon as he moved his chest, however, he winced visibly.

Not missing this, she placed her hand firmly on his shoulder. "Don't move if it hurts. I'll help you."

She inched closer to him and placed her hands underneath either of his arms. She pulled him towards her slowly, so that he could lean comfortably. Weak, he fell against her, his cheek falling against her shoulder, chest heaving in. His dark coarse hair tickled the bottom of her chin, his lips grazing her neck. His abnormally hot breath warmed her skin, and she was suddenly aware of her heart beating rapidly against its ribcage. Mentally slapping herself and praying he could not hear it, Emma grabbed the gauze she had just made. She began to wrap it around Hook's chest, her hands grazing on his chest hair ever so often, which flustered her more than she liked to admit. Flushing, she continued to wrap the cloth all around him.

"There. I'm done." Emma grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back softly, away from her. He lifted his head weakly, finding his eyes inches away from hers. For what seemed like hours, they stayed there, looking at each other. His blue eyes, a startling contrast from the dirt and blood on his grimy face, darted to her lips.

Her heart began to race, and she immediately cleared her throat and turned her face away. She leaned him back toward the pile of pillows. Her hand fluttered up to his forehead and slipped under his knotted hair. She bit her lip when she realized how hot he was.

"You have a fever." Emma's voice was low and grave. Blood began to rush out of her face and she internally cursed Gold for not being here. She could clean wounds and disinfect them, but what could she do with a fever that high?

Hook suppressed a cough, forcing himself not to tremble. "Well, that explains why it's so cold in here."

Her lips tightening in a grim smile, Emma lifted the hair off of his forehead and began to wipe his face gently with the cool rag, cleaning it of the dirt, sweat, and blood. His blue eyes, softening ever so slightly, stayed fixated on her.

"Emma."

She turned toward him, the cloth in her hand lingering on his forehead. His eyes looked past her, as he searched for the right words to say. Coming up with nothing, he squeezed his eyes shut in frustration, his body clenching as pain pulsed throughout his body.

"I'm not a doctor or anything, so this is going to leave a scar," she said finally, attempting to break the pregnant silence. She grimaced in a poor attempt to smile and tapped softly near the wound on his chest, barely an inch from his heart. He glanced at the tattoo on his bare right arm and then turned to gaze at her with an unreadable expression on his face. He grabbed her hand and held it there, over his pulsing heart - forcefully, almost violently, not unlike the night he'd broken his ribs.

"This one won't scar me." His eyes were cryptic and the corners of his lips twitched. "I trust you."


End file.
